I can’t quite remember now, but I’m pretty sure when ITV1 moved News at Ten, the official explanation wasn’t that they wanted to make room for programmes such as Benidorm Unpacked (or, for that matter, Don’t Call Me Stupid and Holly and Fearne Go Dating). Nonetheless, I must admit I’ve watched worse – see, for example, the Anthea Turner show below.

For a start, there was a welcome shortage last night of that trusty stand-by of most ITV docusoaps: shots of drunken young Brits falling out of nightclubs. Admittedly, we did hear from a couple of the poor Spanish women employed to clean their hotel rooms. (“You find things,” said one mysteriously, “that in my opinion are simply beyond reason.”) Yet, for most of the time, the programme concentrated affectionately on Benidorm’s British showbiz community – which for all fans of the lower end of the entertainment business meant something of a treat.

Leading off were Colin and Matthew Fisher, a singing act rather confusingly known as Matthew and Son, even though Colin is Matthew’s father. The high point of their career was an appearance on The X Factor – and they had the photos to prove it. (“This is when Simon Cowell said we were horrific.”) As we joined them, though, they were at a significant crossroads.

Matthew is not one to boast, but he did admit that “people say I’ve got one of the best voices in Benidorm”. He’s also part of a Take That tribute band whose harmonies, his mother told us proudly, are “absolutely s***-hot”. So, should he abandon his old dad and strike out on his own?

From there, the story was a bit like an episode of Steptoe and Son. In the end, Matthew’s dreams of independence were duly thwarted by a combination of his own love for his father and Colin’s dextrous use of emotional blackmail.

Amazingly enough, though, there was an even more unlikely double act on display. Neil St John is a portly middle-aged bloke missing an arm and a leg, who performs with his foxy blonde wife, Anya. (When Neil misbehaves, Anya apparently nicks his artificial limbs while he’s asleep.) From what we saw, they mix straight singing with impersonations – mainly, and perhaps wisely, of Meat Loaf and Cher.

Neil also showed us round his lovely home, where he can leave behind the pressures of stardom – or, as he put it, “I don’t have to be Neil St John”. But, of course, Neil is too much of trouper to want those pressures left behind permanently. Recently, for some reason, the bookings in Benidorm appear to be drying up – so next year he thinks he might try his luck in Bulgaria.

All of which made Benidorm Unpacked look a positive Bafta contender when compared to Help Me Anthea, I’m Infested (BBC3). Needless to say, the title sounds like yet another series pitched by Alan Partridge – but if this was meant to indicate a certain playfulness, then Anthea Turner clearly isn’t in on in the joke. Instead, she seems to see the show as a stern piece of public-service broadcasting.

As a result, the people who call her in to rid their house of pests receive a Widdecombe-style lecture on the importance of self-reliance and personal responsibility. If this lecture is unaccountably ignored, they then receive another – only louder. The process carries on (and on) until the infested ones have learned their lesson and are sobbing their gratitude to Anthea for “changing our life”.

Naturally, the main problem for the viewer is just how boring this is to watch. Anthea tries her best to turn her side-kick, a mild-mannered pest-controller, into a thrilling mix of Jack Bauer and Rambo. She also speaks the voice-over as urgently as possible. (“Mark’s worst fears are confirmed – pharaoh ants!”) Nothing, however, can disguise the grinding, excruciating pointlessness of the whole enterprise. And this, remember, is a new prime-time series from the channel that’s supposed to be attracting a younger audience to the BBC.